


Joy to the World

by hapgen



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, connor loves hank and his pure ways of showing love, dbh secret santa 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 03:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17378411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapgen/pseuds/hapgen
Summary: Connor rubbed his hands together, trying to take his mind off of those penetrating thoughts by concentrating on the texture of his new leather gloves. Hank had given him these gloves as a Christmas present, even though he wasn't gifted them until December 27th. It was a late night, both of them were sitting in front of the television, the idea of holidays and Christmas escaping their thoughts.





	Joy to the World

Connor loved being a detective at the Detroit Police Department (after all, that’s what he was created for), but he couldn’t help but feel. . . odd, about his situation. An interesting and clenching feeling was all he felt in his chest (he shouldn’t be feeling anything there, he didn’t have the same muscle and brain connections that a human did) and it made him worry. Was something wrong with him that he couldn’t detect? Scan after scan, diagnosis after diagnosis- everything had come up pristine. 

Then what was this feeling?

Connor rubbed his hands together, trying to take his mind off of those penetrating thoughts by concentrating on the texture of his new leather gloves. Hank had given him these gloves as a Christmas present, even though he wasn't gifted them until December 27th. It was a late night, both of them were sitting in front of the television, the idea of holidays and Christmas escaping their thoughts because of the nasty legislative war going on in Congress. Apparently, protests across the country were skewing the desperately needed votes, slowing down the legislative process. 

Hank had been grumbling to himself the entire evening as he nursed a bottle of beer (a cheaper version, because Hank had a few fines to pay after assaulting a government employee), watching the television with narrowed eyes. Hank had made his views on this whole situation quite clear- androids had free will, and so did humans- hence, androids deserved the same rights, liberties, and protections that a human had. 

(Those stickers on Hank’s desk disappeared awfully quickly after the Detroit Tower incident.)

Connor crossed his legs, attempting to find a comfortable position to sit in. Just sitting in his usual formal way was not working for him anymore (stress, anxiety, worry- everything that was what the internet said his jitteriness pointed to). Hank said that he had to try and relax (“For once in your damned life, Con.”), so Connor took that advice in stride.

And completely failed at it.

Hank turned and looked at Connor, his eyes looking softer despite his eyebrows being pinched together. He swirled the bottle around and cleared his throat, “Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” Connor knew exactly what Hank meant, but he wanted to have a little fun. Today had been a rough day, and according to many of the leading scientists in the psychiatric field, humor was the perfect way to heal any emotional worries.

Grumbling curses under his breath, Hank leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He blindly rested the half-empty bottle on the foldable table next to him (how he did so, Connor didn’t know- Hank must have had a lot of practice). 

“You know, Con, I’ve been thinking-” Hank began, but held a hand up as soon as Connor opened his mouth, “don’t say it, I will kick your ass out of this house in a heartbeat.”

Connor sighed, “Okay, Hank.” He shifted his legs into an awkward criss-cross applesauce, feeling even more uncomfortable than before.

(He definitely wasn’t going to say: “That’s a first,” because Connor admired and trusted Hank, but. . . he oftentimes did make irrational decisions by choosing not to think, but to just act. It was oddly attractive.)

Hank rolled his eyes. They were such an icy blue. Like the blue on that one princess’ dress in that singing movie everyone hated. Connor loved Hank’s eyes. They seemed so much more emotive than the rest of him. Even if Hank tried his hardest to hide any pain, fear, or happiness, Connor learned to look at the dilation of his pupils and the wrinkles around his eyes. Everything about Hank was so raw. So. . . human. 

He wondered if Hank did things like that with him? He had removed his LED not too long after the commotion earlier that year, and Connor knew that it was the one thing that gave away his emotions to Hank. 

“So, you know that fidget thing you do? The squirming and shit? The coins and tie-fumbling?” Hank said, adjusting his position on the couch. The springs were a little old at this point. They needed a new couch.

Connor blinked, “Yes, but I wouldn’t call it fidgeting, per say. It’s to help calibrate certain functions in my systems.” He paused, looking away from Hank’s gaze, “. . .it doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“God, Con, that would never bother me enough to ask you to stop, fuck.” Hank looked perturbed. Connor guessed that he miscalculated that thought. “I just- You usually do stuff with you hands, right?”

“I usually don’t calibrate with my feet, Hank, so yes, I use my hands.” 

“You know what I fucking meant, Jesus.” He rubbed his face, looking both amused and annoyed at once. Connor loved that expression on Hank’s features. It was heartwarming.

Hank continued while Connor chuckled, struggling to contain his own laughter, “So- so do your hands ever get, I don’t know, cold?”

Connor immediately stopped laughing and squinted his eyes, “I don’t have the same temperature receptors that you do, Hank. I can adjust them. I can feel cold, warm, or hot whenever I want.”

“Wonder when they’ll make something like that for humans to wear,” Hank grumbled before reaching for something underneath the couch. “Now, I know that you have all that fancy engineering inside of you, but in case they stop working for some fucking reason-”

Connor looked at the rectangular package deposited in his lap. It was crudely wrapped with green paper, a cheap dollar store bow placed in the top corner. He blinked at the package, then glanced back up to look at Hank.

“. . .this is a lovely box, thank you, Hank. I’ll treasure it forever.” 

Hank looked constipated, “Holy shit, Con, it’s a present, open the box.” No, not constipated, just irritated. But, the good kind of irritated, Connor supposed.

Timidly, Connor began to open the wrapped container, prying a finger underneath the folds of the paper. He gently tore it off, beginning to feel this tight, warm feeling in his chest as set the paper aside. The box was plain, made of cardboard, processed in China- and it held something inside. Connor felt giddy. His hands vibrated as he opened the box, revealing a pair of-

A pair of gloves.

They were faux leather, Connor could tell that much, but they looked divine. The stitching was simple and clean (and tight, Connor noticed, so they were of decent quality), and, as he found out when he slipped the pair on, there was a soft layer of faux fur inside. He hands felt delightfully encased in warmth, his sensors tingling with the texture on his skin. Connor looked up at Hank with wide eyes, absolutely awestruck with the perfection of the gift.

Hank looked sheepish, “Back in the day I used to be, uh, fidgety, too. I liked having something on my hands, cause it just. . . felt better, I guess? Fuck.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and Connor detected his raised heart rate and warmth spreading across his upper body.

Connor smiled softly, rubbing his fingers together through the material of the gloves, “I love them. They’re perfect. Thank you, Hank.”

“Glad you like them.”

Connor sighed quietly after reconstructing that memory. It felt like a lifetime ago, despite it only being two weeks after the event. The gloves were now snug on his hands, practically becoming a second skin. He didn’t go anywhere without the gloves on his hands, and he only took them off when he got home or had to analyze evidence.

(“Well shit,” Hank said, crossing his arms in mock anger as Connor knelt next to a victim’s body, “I was hoping those gloves would curb that licking fetish you have, guess I’ll have to come up with something else.”)  
Growing impatient, Connor checked the time- it was half past one. Hank was late. Again. For the third time in a row. Why Hank thought it was a good idea to leave him waiting at a crime scene to go, and he quoted, “check out the new food truck down the road, he’ll be back in ten minutes,” Connor had no idea. 

He looked down both sides of the snow-covered road, turning up his heating systems as the temperature continued to drop. Flurries fell harder, the wind picked up, and cars speeding along the road became few and far between. Connor found himself grumbling some unsavory words under his breath, letting the artificial steam from his heating systems out of his mouth. He rubbed his hands together, focusing on the fuzz inside of the gloves. 99% of the material inside the gloves was a pollutant to the environment, but at least the leather itself wasn’t actually. . . real.

The beaming headlights from down the road caught Connor’s attention. Along with the visual cues, his above-average hearing also detecting some less-than-savory lyrics and drums coming from the stereo inside the vehicle. Connor sighed to himself (a truly unnecessary thing, but new emotions come with new habits), and walked towards the passenger side of the car as it rolled to a stop.

He opened the door, unsurprised to see a sheepish looking Hank. At least he had the guts to feel embarrassed.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Connor. I could barely see with this blizzard. You alright?” Hank asked, jacking the heat in the old car up a few notches. 

Connor immediately felt a difference, the snow that had piled on top of his head beginning to melt. Even his heating systems could keep his thirium from close to freezing levels, so he was thankful for the blast of hot air. He was probably soaked to the artificial bone, but it wasn’t an issue. He wasn’t actually mad at Hank. Just. . . a little miffed.

“I’m fine. Just a little cold.” Connor answered, peeling off the damp gloved.

Hank pursed his lips together, his eyes glancing in between Connor’s bare hands and the icy road in front of him. He turned the stereo down a few ticks, before clearing his throat. “So. . . that place on the corner was pretty good. They have some neat stuff.” He said, gesturing to the cup holders in between the seats.

Connor looked down at the two disposable cups and tilted his head. “I’m surprised they’re open in this storm.”

“Believe me, I was surprised, too. Got a discount for being on the force, and they gave me a large coffee for the price of a medium. Real nice.” Hank scratched his beard, idly tapping the steering wheel, “They also some stuff for androids there. ‘Dunno how it works, but I’d thought you’d like to try it.”

“You got me a drink?” Connor said, a lilt of awe in his voice. He picked up the smaller, closer cup and gently popped off the lid, looking at the blue contents inside. “It looks like thirium.”

Hank shrugged, “I said that you were waiting outside for me and I wished I could bring you something back. The guy at the counter apparently had a friend- and android- that invented this stuff.” He pulled into the driveway and set the car to park before turning to look at Connor.

“Well? You gonna try it?”

Connor hummed, smiling softly at Hank. He leaned forward and place a light peck on Hank’s lips, mumbling a quiet thank you. As Hank chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, Connor took a sip of drink.

“Hank. . .”

Still on the high of getting some affection, Hank sighed, “Yeah, Con?”

Connor pursed his lips together and glared at the drink, “This tastes like shit.”

They both looked at the offending cup before beginning to laugh at the absurdity of it all: a thirium drink, leather gloves, late Christmas gifts. What an odd little world they lived in, and how joyful Connor thought it was. Maybe that was the clenching, tight feeling in his chest- the contentment and love he felt with Hank by his side.


End file.
